The Joy Of Christmas Music

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Every December, as predictably as the appearance of the office coworker who insists on wearing a full Santa suit “ironically,” Christmas music returns to our lives. And by “returns,” I mean it descends upon us like a glitter‑encrusted avalanche that cannot be stopped by human means. Scientists could fire rockets at it and it would simply absorb them and produce a new remix featuring sleigh bells.

Christmas music is the only genre that begins playing earlier every year. I swear I heard it in mid‑August once. I was in a supermarket buying barbecue charcoal, and suddenly the speakers started blasting a cheerful tune about snowmen. Snowmen. In August. The only snowman in August is the one you hallucinate after heatstroke!

And the thing is, Christmas music is everywhere. You cannot escape it. You can be in a dentist’s office, lying there with your mouth open while a stranger drills into your skull, and the speakers will be softly playing a song about how magical it is to gather around the fire with loved ones. This is not helpful. What I need in that moment is a song called “Please Stop Drilling My Face.”

But no Christmas music is relentless. It’s like the Terminator, if the Terminator wore a festive sweater and smelled faintly of cinnamon.

There are, broadly speaking, three categories of Christmas music:

1. The Classics, which were all recorded between 1947 and 1956 by men with names like Bing, Dean, and Burl. These songs are legally required to be played 900 times per day. They all feature a full orchestra, a choir, and a man singing in a voice so smooth it could butter toast.

2. The Novelty Songs, which were clearly written by people who had run out of ideas and decided to see what they could get away with. These are the songs about grandmothers being run over by reindeer, or chipmunks demanding presents, or hippopotamuses being involved for reasons that remain unclear. These songs are beloved by children, who will play them on repeat until adults begin quietly Googling “How to fake your own disappearance.”

3. The Modern Pop Christmas Songs, which all sound like they were written in a single afternoon by a committee of producers who were told, “Make it sound festive, but also like it could be used in a perfume commercial.” These songs always include at least one key change, a whispery emotional bridge, and a music video where the singer wears a coat that costs more than your car.

And then there’s the 12‑song playlist that every retail store uses. You know the one. It’s the same everywhere. You can walk into a  supermarket, a shoe shop, or a place that sells nothing but artisanal pickles, and you will hear the exact same sequence of songs. I’m convinced there’s a central Christmas‑music server somewhere, guarded by elves with clipboards.

The worst part is that Christmas music is catchy. You can hate it with every fibre of your being, and still, three hours later, you’ll find yourself humming a tune about a jolly man who breaks into homes. You’ll be in a meeting, trying to look serious, and suddenly your brain will go: “Hey! Remember that song about the snowman who comes to life and commits several acts of property damage?” And then you’re stuck with it for the rest of the day.

But here’s the thing  and I say this with the weary resignation of a man who has tried to resist and failed  Christmas music works. It gets you. One minute you’re rolling your eyes at the fifteenth rendition of a song about bells. The next minute you’re decorating the tree, drinking hot chocolate, and feeling suspiciously sentimental.

Because Christmas music, for all its absurdity, is basically a seasonal mind control device that makes us feel warm and nostalgic and slightly more forgiving of our relatives.

And honestly? That’s not the worst thing in the world.

Even if it does start in August.

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